


game over

by sulfuric



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, all pure fluff honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting engaged is a game, and neither Thomas nor Minho are willing to lose.  But, eventually, one will.</p><p>or, the one where minho and thomas both want to be the first to propose, hijinks ensue. then they get married and it's really Gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	game over

**Author's Note:**

> based off of the [headcanons](http://badboygally.tumblr.com/post/126922999041/whispers-quietly-what-would-a-thominho-wedding-be) by the love of my life [mari](http://badboygally.tumblr.com)!! this is super fast and lazy and if you get all the references i love you, enjoy my friends

The facts were these: at this very moment, Thomas Murphy and Minho Park were in a very serious competition. A race. They were not _actually_ running, nor were they competing in any other kind of sport. Thomas and Minho were each competing for the other’s hand in marriage. Both men, stubborn as they were, could not and would not let the other beat them in this competition. This, naturally, meant doing anything they could to make sure they did _not_ get proposed to before they could pop the question themselves.

The two had discussed marriage before, and they knew it was something they both wanted. That conversation, in a way, had started this rat race. Both Thomas and Minho wanted to be the one to make the proposal, and would do anything to thwart the other’s attempts in doing so. It had been three months, and things were starting to get a bit ridiculous.

 

Thomas was not a dumb man. He did admit that many things did go over his head, and he often ignored very sound advice in favor of doing what he wanted. This did not make him a dumb man. He was an intelligent man, in many ways. When Minho too-casually suggested taking a day trip to he and Thomas’s former shared college, mind you, the _very first place they met_ , Thomas knew exactly what Minho was trying to do. And Thomas could not have that.

Yet, he complied. He, not being a dumb man, knew that he would have to play along in order to properly distract Minho. So, when Minho asked Thomas to drive them back to their old campus, Thomas replied with a bright grin and a happy “yes”.

At that point, Minho had considered himself victorious. He was not a dumb man either, but unlike Thomas, he was somewhat of a cocky man. Once Thomas agreed to his request, Minho’s worries and paranoia were given a suitcase and promptly shown out the door, banished from Minho’s mind. For the whole car ride, a smirk was worn proudly on his face. He had _won_. Victory and Happiness cheered all over the empty spaces, celebrating their triumph where Worry and Paranoia once loomed inside his mind. It was for precisely eight minutes and twenty four seconds that they celebrated, because precisely eight minutes and twenty five seconds after the commencement of their celebration, Thomas said six words that instantly ended the party in Minho’s head.

“Hey, Min, I think we’re lost.” It was with those words that Minho knew.

The game was back on.

Thomas _knew_ , he had to. “But, uh, there’s probably a cafe or something up here. We can grab some lunch.” Thomas’s voice was light and nonchalant. Too light. Too nonchalant.

Minho eyed Thomas carefully. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Yeah, sure.” Minho said, matching Thomas’s breezy tone. Two could play at this game.

It was a few minutes later that Thomas spotted a familiar cafe and pulled up beside it, parallel parking with ease. Minho looked up at the sign through the window, narrowing his eyes. The cafe currently to his right also happened to be the cafe he and Thomas had shared their very first date inside of. _You motherfucker,_ Minho thought to himself, side-eyeing Thomas as he unbuckled his seatbelt, oblivious to the daggers being glared into his back. _Do you think you’re going to win this? No. Minho is in this to win._

At that very moment, Thomas was celebrating as Minho had just minutes before. He was sure, now, he had won. It was perfect. He was certain that nothing could go wrong. He could feel his chest start to get tight and his hands starting to sweat with - nerves? Yes, nerves. Thomas and Minho had been plotting, sabotaging, and _not proposing_ for so long that he truly was not prepared for how nervous he would be when the moment finally came. He stepped out of the car, Minho doing the same. Thomas started around the car and toward the cafe when he heard a dull thud and a loud “Shit!” yelled from the other side of the car.

It was at that very moment that Minho had decided he needed to resort to Drastic Measures. His plan was classified as Drastic Measures for a few reasons. One of those reasons being that the actions required to be performed in order to complete his on-the-spot plan could be seen by others as desperately pathetic. And Minho, at all times, did what he could do to avoid coming across as desperately pathetic. In addition to this, Minho was acutely aware of the fact that he was mere minutes away from losing. And he could not lose. So, as previously stated, this very moment called for Drastic Measures.

So, Minho _clearly_ had no choice but to throw himself onto the concrete sidewalk.

But, perhaps due to the spontaneity and lack of planning associated with the launching of Minho’s body onto the ground, a miscalculation was made. A near-fatal miscalculation. In the process of catching himself on the sidewalk, Minho failed to do just that. Consequently, his head hit the concrete, producing the dull thud that Thomas heard from the driver’s side of the car.

“Minho?” Thomas asked, fear that had nothing to do with the proposal colouring his voice. The proposal, at this point, was almost all but forgotten. Thomas jumped over the hood of his car, sliding over the curve of the hood and landing right beside an unconscious Minho. Thomas swore, quite colourfully, and tried to remember what was supposed to be done in order to make sure Minho would keep breathing.

Thomas ended up just shaking the man’s body and saying his name between strings of more swear words.

Eventually, a pretty girl who looked much more capable than Thomas despite her size came out from the cafe and nearly shoved Thomas out of the way, checking Minho’s pulse with her tiny hands. She barked at Thomas to call 9-1-1, which he did. The ambulance eventually came and loaded Minho up into it, along with Thomas sitting, or, more accurately, shaking and trying not to vomit, beside him.

 

It was precisely fifty five minutes and forty seven seconds later that Thomas was sitting beside a still unconscious but now bandaged Minho, joined by a worried Newt and an equally worried Gally. Both new additions to the drab hospital room were close friends of both Minho and Thomas. Both new additions were also as white-faced as Thomas himself. They all sat side-by-side, watching Minho’s chest rise and fall with each slow breath.

“So you’re saying that he just...  Passed out?” Newt asked, skepticism dripping from every word.

Thomas sighed. “Well, yeah. I got out of the car and I heard him fall and then he was just on the ground.”

“That’s weird.” Gally said. He had known Minho the longest out of all of them, and was obviously not convinced. “Minho doesn’t just pass out.”

“I know.” Thomas said, shaking his head. “It was almost like - like he was trying to get out of going inside the cafe. It was where we had our first date, you know.”

“Bloody hell.” Newt rolled his eyes and Gally groaned at the same time.

Thomas was confused. “What?”

Gally snorted. “Were you planning on proposing to him?”

“How did you know that?”

“Cause he wants to propose to you first, dummy.” Newt piped in.

Thomas sighed again, frustrated. “I know that, he was going to try to do it today, back on campus, but I got us lost on purpose, and-”

“Marry me.” The words were no more than a whisper, a tiny rasp of a sentence. It came from beside Thomas, from the bed. From _Minho_. Thomas, Newt, and Gally gaped at him, caught entirely off guard. Minho’s eyes were still shut, but the smirk forming on his lips made it clear that the sneaky man was no longer asleep.

And it was at that very moment that Thomas became extremely pissed. “No!” he nearly screamed, not caring if he startled Newt or Gally or any of the nurses nearby. “ _You_ marry _me_!”

Minho shook his head, starting to sit up. “I asked you first. I win!”

Thomas _pouted_. “That’s not fair, I didn’t even know you were awake!”

“Doesn’t matter.” Minho said. He was sitting up fully now, and turned to Thomas, taking the man’s face in his hands. “You have to marry me, you dumb shank!”

It took every single ounce of willpower that Thomas possessed not to look into Minho’s beautiful brown eyes. Because if he did that, he would lose. And, as we are very aware and constantly reminded of, neither Minho nor Thomas could lose. “No. No. You marry me.”

“No! I won!” Minho protested, a frown replacing his smirk.

Thomas still wouldn’t look directly at Minho, despite his face being in the perfect position to do so. “But-”

“Oh, would you two just shut up?” It was Gally. Minho released his grip on Thomas and the two of them turned to stare at their friend. He rolled his eyes and continued. “You’re literally arguing about who gets to propose to who. Who cares. You’re engaged now. Congratulations.”

Gally huffed an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes again while Newt just sat there trying to conceal his smirk. Thomas turned back to Minho.

“I guess he’s kinda right.” Thomas said.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Minho said.

At that very moment both men felt the same buzz of nervous excitement shoot through them, as well as a little something else. Love, maybe. Devotion, perhaps? It was something from that vein of feeling, and they both shared that distinct feeling together as they just stared into each other’s eyes, realizing they had the entirety of their lives ahead of them to do the very thing they were doing at that very moment.

They didn’t hear Newt whisper to Gally, and they didn’t hear the snicker his words got in return.

“This is _so_ gay.”

  

Precisely four months, one week, two days, two hours, seventeen minutes and thirty one seconds later, Thomas and Minho were three minutes and fifty nine seconds away from being officially married. They were outside, on a beautiful hilltop, standing together in front of one hundred of their closest friends and family. Blue and white ribbons adorned each of the guest’s chairs, along with the tears in their eyes that were soon to be adorning their cheeks.

Tears were also threatening to adorn the cheeks of Thomas and Minho themselves. Neither could truly quite grasp that they were getting married, and after that were immediately going to be spending the rest of their lives together. Neither listened to the officiant as they rambled all the useless garbage that came before the actual act of being married. Instead, Thomas and Minho were beaming at each other, trying not to burst with excitement.

When the moment came, Minho was as dramatic as ever. It wasn’t unexpected, but there was a collective gasp of surprise and then adoration when he dipped Thomas low and smashed their lips together. The adoration, however, died down just a bit when they proceeded to make out for some time nearing five minutes. The best men, Newt and Gally, of course, were trying their very best not to laugh at their friends. The words “trash” and “losers” were thrown out but neither Thomas nor Minho cared in the slightest. Although they did untangle from each other enough to make some rather rude gestures at their friends. All in good spirits, of course.

The reception was equally as unique as the service, utterly and truly Thomas and Minho. The speeches were more than memorable, delivered by a crying, but “not fucking crying” Gally and a shamelessly teary Newt. Though the speeches did include mentions of Thomas and Minho’s sex life as well as a number of referrals to their combined status as fuckwits, they were actually quite heartfelt.

Other moments during the night were quite unforgettable, such as Thomas’s face becoming very suddenly decorated in a lovely white frosting, courtesy of Minho and his hand slamming Thomas into their cake. A bouquet was also thrown, promptly caught by an ecstatic Teresa. This caused Gally, her loyal boyfriend of three years, one month, three weeks, three days, sixteen hours, fifty minutes and two seconds to nearly faint dead away right then and there. There was a surplus of alcohol and nearly every guest in attendance was sufficiently tipsy. Including Thomas and Minho themselves.

 

After they had made an appearance for an appropriate amount of time, Thomas and Minho stumbled - and this word is used quite generously - up to their hotel room. They stood in the middle of their suite, cupping each other’s faces in their hands.

Minho spoke first. “I don’t say this enough, but I love you, Thomas. I really fucking love you.”

Thomas almost giggled. “You better! We just got married!”

Minho just rolled his eyes, and leaned in to kiss Thomas for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. He didn’t mind, and neither did Thomas.

When they pulled apart, the smile on Thomas’s face could have made Minho cry all over again. Thomas pulled Minho in again, kissing him hard.

And the facts were these: “I love you too, Min. Forever. Always.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow that was so gay lmao :^)


End file.
